This was my father. To him, I'd always been just an object—something to take orders and generate value for him.
I grabbed my phone and typed forcefully.
"Got it."
After I hit send, the world finally went quiet.
Dad probably thought this was my usual signal before giving in, that I'd go back to playing the obedient, useful daughter.
But not this time, Dad.
In the apartment's silence, there was only my breathing and the faint white noise of the city outside.
I need to leave. The thought had never been clearer.
Leave Los Angeles. Leave my father's control.
More importantly, I absolutely could not let my father or Richard know about the pregnancy. Otherwise, this child's future might be just like mine—a tool for the family's profit. I would never allow that to happen.
Then I remembered an email from a few days ago.
It was from an agent named Emma at Harbor Records. Her tone had been earnest, almost overly enthusiastic. She said my voice had the gritty texture of a lost golden era, and if I was willing to sign, any terms were negotiable. At the end, she'd included her personal number.
At the time, I thought it was a joke. Any terms? It sounded too good to be true, so I'd ignored it.
But now it was my best chance to leave Los Angeles without being found.
I opened my laptop, found the email, and dialed.
The phone rang once before a bright, laughing voice answered. "Hello! This is Emma!"
"Hey, Emma, this is Natalie Green." I greeted her politely.
"Natalie!" Her voice exploded with excitement. Background music faded as she apparently turned it down. "Oh my God, you're calling back! This is fantastic! I saw your performance at Mustang—your voice, honey, it's like an undiscovered gem! Can we talk? Is now a good time?"
Her enthusiasm hit like a whirlwind. I steadied myself and didn't waste time. "Now works. Let's talk terms, Emma."
"Absolutely! I love someone who gets straight to business!" Emma laughed, her words tumbling out rapidly. "We're not the biggest label in Las Vegas, but our resources are sharp, and I can say with confidence—we know how to appreciate uniqueness! For revenue splits, the industry standard for new artists is 70-30, but we believe in you, so we can do 60-40; you get forty, the company gets sixty. All recording, rehearsal, promotion, and distribution costs are covered by us! That's a genuinely generous starting package!"
60-40, compared to three hundred dollars a night at Mustang—if I could get steady performance opportunities and promotion, this was a massive step up.
But money wasn't my biggest concern right now.
"The split works for me, but I have one non-negotiable condition."
"Tell me! I said any terms are on the table!" Her tone stayed eager.
"I won't show my face. No performances, no promotion, no social media—nothing with my full face visible. You can use silhouettes, masks, backlighting, whatever doesn't reveal my actual appearance. I work with my voice only."
Silence on the other end. I could imagine her processing this, rapidly calculating. A faceless singer? In Las Vegas, a city built on visual spectacle and personal charisma? This practically challenged industry rules.
"No face..." Emma repeated. "Natalie, I get that artists might have privacy concerns, but your stage presence and voice work together. The magnetism I saw at that show was incredible—hiding it would be a shame. This would make promotion much harder and cost you opportunities. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." My answer was firm. "This is my only condition for signing."
Another silence, longer this time.
I understood. She was evaluating whether a masked singer had market value, weighing whether my voice was special enough to overcome the massive disadvantage of anonymity.
